Voices
by GwennielOfNargothrond
Summary: Every day Finwë comes to the gardens of Lórien to sing to his troubled wife. Every day Míriel's voice wanes and becomes quieter and quieter. Rated T for the inevitable character death.


**Voices**

It was not the first time that Finwë was singing to his wife. He was sitting on the low bench beside the bed on which his wife rested. Míriel's eyes were half-closed and she was listening to Finwë's singing, the singing in that soft, low, gentle voice of his, singing a lullaby that the Eldar had brought with them from Cuiviénen. Finwë sang, Míriel rested, and their son Curufinwë lay sleeping by his mother, his little fist curled around a tress of her silver hair. Around them the whole garden of Lórien was in bloom.

"Your voice is fair, have I told you that?" Míriel whispered.

"Yes you have and I have always replied that your voice is fairer still," Finwë replied with a small smile, but then he turned to look away before his eyes would betray his thoughts.

The truth was that he had not had the chance to enjoy Míriel's voice very much lately. Each day was quieter and quieter as her voice became more silent and she used it more sparsely. The last time he had truly heard her voice as it used to be was when he had kissed her and told her that their newborn son was well in health in spite of how arduous his birth had been. Then she had laughed amidst her tears of joy, but afterwards she had fallen silent and said she needed rest, and Finwë and little Curufinwë Fëanáro had been left waiting for her to return to them from the gardens where Lórien had said she might find the rest she needed.

The following day Finwë was once again singing the same lullaby and Míriel was listening quietly with her eyes shut. Their son was asleep in his father's lap. When Finwë had finished his song, the birds around them went on with theirs, and the family sat listening to their chirping. Míriel mumbled something and Finwë had to lean closer to hear her words.

"Teach Fëanáro..." she said, each word quieter than the one before, "teach him to sing as the birds do, because... I think he has... a knack... for languages..."

"You think there is singing material in him?" Finwë said, kissing their child's forehead. "A fine voice he certainly has... if not a singer, then a speaker he will be and speak as the Valar themselves." The boy stirred in his arms and whined a bit, being still too young for words no matter what future talents his parents saw in him. Finwë gazed at him fondly but then looked at his wife, who once again had closed her eyes. "I would much rather that you would be the one to sing to him. Will you soon be ready to return home?"

Míriel sighed. It was a weary breath that escaped her greyening lips. "Not yet," she muttered and when Finwë looked at her, he could hear that she was sorry. Sorry she was, and she rued that she could not express it. Sorry for never being available for her husband and son. Sorry that Finwë would not be blessed with the big and happy family he had dreamt of, sorry for that their son was nurtured by a wetnurse rather than by his own mother, sorry that Finwë each day had to come to these gardens to see her and each night had to sleep in a cold bed, and sorry for that she could not be the one to teach their precious son to walk, to talk, to sing, to weave... But all that could pass her lips was one word: "Sorry". Terribly blunt, she thought and was sorry for that too.

But Finwë kissed her cheeks nonetheless and laid Curufinwë Fëanáro beside her and told her not to worry about it and to focus on her resting. As if a specific amount of resting could bring back his wife.

Again Finwë came to the gardens, Curufinwë gently in his arms sucking a strand of his father's hair. Míriel was sleeping when they arrived and for a while Finwë merely sat by her, wondering if she would wake up soon or whether, instead, his worst fears would come true. When the baby started whining, wondering why his mother had not noticed him as she usually did, Míriel finally opened her eyes and managed to smile a faint smile. Finwë brought the boy close to her so that she could kiss his nose while he could reach out for her face with his small stubby fingers. Then they sat each in their own quiet one again. Finwë looked at his beloved Míriel, who seemed even more quiet than the previous days, as if each mingling of the trees bright down her voice one notch.

"Shall I sing to you again?" Finwë asked carefully. He had to lean so very close to hear the reply. A mere shadow of a whisper: "Please". So Finwë sang the same song he always had sang to her, the lullaby he had sang to her, a song she herself had once taught him. Softly, stiffly, as his own voice shivered from dread.

As he finished, Míriel opened her eyes one last time, again meaning to say something, so Finwë leaned forward to listen to her. Míriel's lips formed the words and Finwë felt her breath against his ear. But he could not hear anything. Míriel's sad eyes gazed at him.

She repeated her words, again.

And again.

But only Finwë's voice was heard, and it was a thick voice that ignored all of his attempts to keep it stable. "Forgive me, my love... I cannot hear what you are saying." One last time Míriel formed the words she was trying to convey, but her voice was so weak that Finwë, no matter how he tried, could not hear them. As Finwë realized that he would never hear what his wife was trying to say to him, he pulled away for her not to notice his tears. But it was in vain. Yet Míriel with some hidden final strength managed to reach out for his hand and press it in her own. Then she closed her eyes.

When Finwë breathed out after he had stifled his tears, Míriel's grip of his hand had loosened and her body had become limp and her spirit had passed on, and Finwë realized, indeed, that in spite of her likeness still lying before him, she could no longer listen to his lullaby.


End file.
